I have always (quite recently) started to believe that getting stirred up in nostalgia is a lot like getting drunk. On getting a little tipsy on both, you either start to laugh like a hyena, cry like there is no tomorrow, get depressed like you have hit rock bottom, get a blank page in your head or go completely tangent that you lose yourself to that time and day – teehee hee.
I mean we all just grew up doing so many things that it became hard to keep a track of it all. I remember us sitting up late through nights discussing how we were going to live our lives – oh how we were going to travel the world, become someone special, join weird circles, never going to get married, stand on the highest peaks and crawl into the bottom of hell and most of all – drag each other everywhere. Well as of now, we are all married (some even have kids!!) and no one even lives in the same city or even the country for that matter.
All those match – ups and break – ups, yelling and getting yelled at, pushing and pulling each other, being on the wrong side of the road let alone the bed – – we have been through it all and celebrated them all to our favourite songs and pegs & pints. I remember this one break up I had and as I was literally wailing in the bathroom, I called my best friend to announce the whole thing to her. Her first response to the commotion was ‘Wanna go for a movie?’ Believe me when I say that at that point, I didn’t know whether I should have pounded her or continued staying dumbfounded. If I remember correctly, we met, I yelled and screamed while she just stood there and then we went for that movie. And when another one us went through a crisis, we just ate tons of crappy food, smoked like chimneys and yelled at complete strangers. (-_-) Such friends and those memories at 42 – a place we all called home!!
The stupid fights we all had, all the sneak outs, of how we used to find the shittiest corner on the lonely road everybody knew and call it ‘our spot’, the 2am smoke breaks on the terrace and the 2pm hunger pangs during class, the biting and scraping, the ever changing hair styles and stories. Even after being in different streams of courses, we used to meet up under the pretext of studies and end up playing cards the whole day long – – we all passed out of sheer luck.
Sigh! What were we doing in those days? How did our brains work exactly? We all knew and then we all didn’t.
Suddenly I remember how we were thrown in the career caged circus that was called ‘PAY YOUR OWN BILLS’. Eventually we run past those whips of adult life and meet for that one drink – probably once or twice a year and even when someone is always missing – we still dance, yak, burp, fart, cry, complain and bitch, laugh, sing, pull each other’s hair and cheers like as if nothing ever changed. I guess that is what makes those memories feel even more special than what they started out to be. Siigghhhhh….
Where was I?? So much to tell and so much to ruminate about… but… well…that’s all that I can take in that one glass.
Oh well. . my eyes are still open and I can still see everything in static. I guess I’ll have another large one of nostalgia please. . .
HootingKettle 